


He likes me, he like-likes me not

by everyperfectsummer



Series: attempts at everlark for nortberts mom [3]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Mutual Pining, Other, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 07:23:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16488224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everyperfectsummer/pseuds/everyperfectsummer
Summary: Area man is tired of these teens involving him in their "x loves me, x loves me not" drama, sources report.Area man doesn't even have good advice to give, sources continue.Area man is also well aware that he's one of the only, if not the only, responsible adult figures in their lives, and so is doing his best to give them advice anyway, sources conclude.





	He likes me, he like-likes me not

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Norberts_Mom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Norberts_Mom/gifts).



> Also betaed by lazy-duck; was going to be part of story one but was separated because of the huge difference in tone.

She went to Haymitch’s house right after Peeta left hers, waited by the window until she saw him walk out of sight and then darted out, closing the door behind her fast enough that it slams. She winced at the sound, knowing Mom’s not home to hear it and that Mom hasn’t cared enough about anything in years to scold her for slamming it even if she _was_ home, but the same part of her that remembers kisses on forehead and stories goodnight also remembers to not yell during sleep hours and to _not slam the door_. She shook off the ghost of scoldings past and broke into a run heading for the man who’s closest to being her parent now.

 

“Haymitch!” she calls, knocking on the door in the same movement that she uses to swing it open. “I have a crisis!” She rethought her words, given some of the crises she’d shown up at his door with in the past. “A not 911 crisis!”

 

“Always glad not to have to call for the ambulance,” Haymitch said, setting his ever-present bottle down on the table next to him. “Even gladder to see you if you brought something from your baker-boy.”

 

“Wh- no, I don’t have dessert, we didn’t make anything today, he spent the whole time petting our cat.”

 

“ _Our_ cat?” Haymitch said mockingly. “The ‘ugly yellow goblin's yours too now?”

 

She waved a hand dismissively, flopping back onto his carpet to stare up at the ceiling. For a guy who professed not to care what was around him, he sure did have the most comfortable floor she’d ever seen. Well, felt, more accurately. “Not the crisis, asshole.” She sighed, running her gaze down a crack that ran from one edge of the ceiling to the other. “Think I’ve a crush on Peeta.”

 

She couldn’t see his face, but could feel him rolling his eyes anyway. “Ok.”

 

“It’s not _ok_ , Haymitch.”

 

“What, you want me to tell you what to do, sweetheart? Here’s my sage advice about romantic relationships: they all end ugly. People stay in love until one of them dies or one starts hitting the kids or one turns into a bitter drunk like me. Same with friends, minus the kids part. You can confess and ruin your friendship, keep it a secret and ruin your friendship like that, show up ten years later at his wedding to confess and ruin your friendship and someone’s special day, you could do any of those things and it could go fine, except the last one, probably, but the point is there is no guarantee of success or failure either way.”

 

“Thanks for being reassuring, Haymitch.”

 

“You’re welcome, kid. Anyway, that was the sage advice. The real advice is my telling you what I told him last week: if you two love _each other_ , talk to each other about it instead of bothering an old man trying to have a drink in piece.”

 

She shot up from the floor, stars in her vision from hope and also from the head rush. “What you told him? He said he likes me? Like, like likes me?”

 

“Said he’s in love with you, but thanks for the show of forty percent listening comprehension.”

 

She stared at him open mouthed for a few beats before darting out the door, because she needed to talk to Peeta now, _tonight_ , or she’d get nervous and bail.

 

* * *

 

 

Later that night, just after Haymitch had finally managed to fall asleep, the door to his house crashed back open. He opened his eyes, blearily wishing for the days when that would have meant a break-in instead of a teen in crisis.

 

“Whaz going on,” he mumbled, not lifting his head from the pillow or even really having the energy to make it a question as the door to his bedroom opened.

 

“Are you awake?” a whisper came from the doorway. Male. Young. Not one of the Hawthorne boys, and not one of his many dead, which meant —

 

“Peeta?”

 

The boy took that as permission to flick on the lights and walk in, flopping onto the foot of the bed across Haymitch’s legs, mirroring Katniss from hours before as he stared up at the ceiling.

 

“This better be a crisis, kid.”

 

“Katniss said she likes me. So…definitely a crisis. ”

 

Haymitch rolled onto his stomach to look at Peeta, putting a hand up to block out the light. _They’ll stop being teens soon,_ he told himself, _and heartbreak crises will be over._

 

* * *

 

A few decades later almost to the day, he is comfortably napping when a girl with dark hair and blue eyes comes into his room, sits next to his armchair and says, “So if someone says they like you, that’s less than like-liking, but is that more than a crush?”


End file.
